


We Are Hunters All

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was just thinking that it’s rather a wasted opportunity that they named you Bedivere.” She doesn’t elaborate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Hunters All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefairfleming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/gifts).



> In which Jon and Sansa are Kingsman Agents - an add-on to thefairfleming's Remix entry

It’s stunning, really, how different she can be when they’re alone.

Objectively, he realizes she’s not all that different. Most people who know Sansa wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary about her behavior if they were a fly on the wall when she and Jon are alone. Alright, not all of her behavior; seeing writhing under Jon’s mouth with sensual abandon the way she had a half hour ago would probably raise some eyebrows. But overall, she doesn’t treat him much differently off the job than she does on. So maybe it’s only that with someone as self-contained as Sansa, it doesn’t take much for Jon to take notice.

And right now, though no one in the Kingsman would believe it, he’s pretty sure the old girl is giggling.

“Tell yourself a knock-knock joke?” he asks, squeezing her even closer to his side. She’s draped over him like a warm, soft, painfully sexy quilt. It’s rare she allows such indulgences; Sansa Stark is all business 95% of the time, even when he’s turning her out just the way he’s learned she likes best. Sometimes she even talks shop when his mouth is on her, stopping only when pleasure makes it hard to breathe, let alone talk.

“I was just thinking that it’s rather a wasted opportunity that they named you Bedivere.” She doesn’t elaborate.

“And that would be because…?”

Sansa props her chin on his chest, looking up into his face with a wicked grin. He’s never seen her give him such a look and he’s getting hard even before her hand slides down his belly to wrap around his cock.

“Because if they’d named you Pellinore, I could make all sorts of jokes about your Questing Beast here.” She twists her hand in a deft motion, thumbing the head of his cock and making him want to weep in gratitude. Casually, she continues stroking and teasing him as she purses her lips in exaggerated thought. “Though maybe your tongue is the bit that goes questing more often.”

“I’ll quest you,” Jon gasps in an inane threat. Sansa wrinkles her nose and smiles at him so fondly that it makes his heart throb as much as his cock.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes, well, I think we’ve established that I lose all sense when it comes to you.” He means it as self-deprecation but Sansa’s face goes all warm – the way it does when Ghost puts his head in her lap, or when Jon comes back safely from a mission and catches her eyes before she can school her expression into brisk, professional neutrality – and her hand slows until she’s just holding him gently in her grip.

“Don’t go all soft on me,” she warns. Her heart’s not in it, though. She stretches up to kiss him. It’s an incredibly tender, almost chaste kiss from someone currently jacking him off, and Jon can’t help but laugh.

“Now who’s telling himself knock-knock jokes?” she teases.

“Knock knock,” he says immediately, only to be rewarded with a roll of Sansa’s eyes. “Knock knock!” 

“Who’s there?”

Easily, Jon catches her under her arms and hauls her body over his, pushing her up so she’s straddling him. Then, slowly, he hooks his arms under her thighs and pulls her up his chest, closer and closer, until he can’t help but breathe her in. She never wears any perfume but she’s the sweetest thing he’s ever smelled. She shivers when he bumps and nuzzles his nose against her. His tongue flicks and she jerks, her fingers spearing through his hair. “Who’s there?” she repeats, but her voice is shaky this time.

“Orange.” Another flick, but softer, slower this time. Her fingers knot, tugging at his hair, her knuckles pressed against his skull.

“O-orange who?”

Jon looks up at her as he curls his tongue into his mouth to savor the taste of her. “Orange you glad the beast wants to go questing?” She breaks into peals of laughter, shaking on top of his chest, her whole body quivering most distractingly.

“That’s a horrible knock-knock joke,” she says, “but yes, I’m quite, quite glad.” Pleased, he sets his mouth against her, tongue slow but firm, just exploring at first. Or questing, as it were. Her fingers relax, spread, the pads of her fingers rubbing unconsciously over his scalp. Sometime tells Jon this is going to be a good, long quest.


End file.
